with the birds I'll share this lonely view
by awwcoffeenooooo
Summary: "You do realize this is the beginning of a really shitty romcom, right?" Jessica scoffs, shaking her head. Karen glowers. "How so?" "You're knocked up, Trish and I are your questionable moral support, and baby daddy's somewhere out there playing hipster,"
1. Chapter 1

**So apparently I have a reputation as the pregnancy fic author cause a nonnie on Tumblr requested a Kastle pregnancy. It was supposed to be maybe 2K at most, but it sort of got away from me, cause it's currently at 6K and I don't think I've even hit the climax. So I broke it up into pieces, and this little thing was born.**

 **Title is from Scar Tissue by Red Hot Chili Peppers, because I've had them on repeat and I can't stop humming most of their stuff.**

 **Please enjoy, or let yourself fall further into this pit that is Kastle. I'm already down here, waiting . . .**

* * *

David likes to think he's a good man with a rotten streak of luck. It's not that he ever wanted to be in the position that life had thrown him. He just sort of ended up there because, again, life was a sick bastard.

But sometimes, as he rationalizes, good men have to do slightly less golden things. Such as this, sitting at his desk and flipping through street cameras. It wasn't really great behavior, as the government would certainly like to hear of this, but in his mind, it was necessary.

Someone had to make sure Page was okay. Frank was still too caught up in his own head to do it himself, love lorn as he was, and so the responsibility fell to David.

Not that Frank knew about this. If he knew, David had a feeling he wouldn't be walking straight for a few days.

But really, someone had to make sure she was alright. Gun or not, Karen needed someone to keep an eye out. She didn't have many acquaintances. A lawyer bloke showed up occasionally, but not enough to satisfy David. Karen needed someone to make sure she didn't vanish into New York's buzz without a trace.

So every few days David taps into the security camera aimed to her windowsill, and makes sure the white roses Frank had left were still being so meticulously cared for. Healthy plants were a sign of a healthy mind, after all.

Eight months this goes on, Frank seemingly keeping his distance from Page's apartment but in regular contact with David. The roses bloom repeatedly. Until one week they don't.

Their petals wilt and warp and leaves begin to lose their luster, and Karen makes no attempt to keep them afloat outside of occasionally dumping a half empty glass on them.

He catches sight of her, once. Her eyes are rimmed red and hair frizzy and clothes casual, so outside of the skirts and blouses he'd attributed to her. Something's wrong.

But he says nothing, because Frank would have his head on a platter if he knew he'd been watching the tall blonde reporter behind his back. It's not as if she's any danger, either, just seemingly copious amounts of stress and a dash of depression.

That doesn't mean David doesn't drop hints, though. Dinners with Frank are a bimonthly affair, and he makes sure to bring up at least two articles of hers before Frank shuts him down with that glare.

But one day he's lucky enough to catch Page moving about in her apartment, something clutched in her hand, her movements tired but fueled.

She wrenches open the window, reaches for the roses, and jabs a white stick in the soil. Her eyes shoot a pointed glare directly at the camera before she disappears back inside, slamming the window and tugging the curtains shut.

David wastes no time in zooming in on the planter, and then promptly chokes on his tea.

 _Shit._

* * *

Here's the thing about Frank:

He's loyal to a fault. His hands are rough and caring, and regardless of how much the air between them seems to shift, he's always there for her. Not in your typical nine to five way, but he gives what he can, and it's good enough for a lonely Karen Page.

The more she gets to know him outside of his crusades, the more she realizes he's actually a huge dork. He's the sort of guy who gets excited over different coffee brews and will never pass up older comedies when he's surfing channels. And he's actually a huge sucker for animals, which may not come as that big of a surprise, but there was a time in mid April when he carried an orphaned squirrel kit in his pocket.

Frank's a dork. She loves that.

Not that he knows it. Or maybe he does and simply doesn't mention it. She tries not to think too hard about it. Being more than a little in love with him is complicated enough.

It's complicated because she's sure she was never supposed to feel for him this way. She wasn't supposed to stare at his lips and ass and get lost in his eyes and want to rub her fingers along the calluses on his hands. She wasn't supposed to find understanding and trust in him. To find a man who knew what it was like to have hit fuck up after fuck up and yet to somehow still be here today. How to push through every single thing that had come in the way to try to find happiness.

Sure, Karen thought joy was futile. Everything comes and goes. But that didn't mean little sparks didn't crop up all over the place, sometimes more around Frank than others.

Karen takes a sip of coffee and glowers. _Sparks_.

She thinks bitterly.

She may love him, but she was also going to fucking kill him. Serve the bastard right for not even sticking around the next morning.

The morning after they slept together, that is. Where Karen had a rough day losing a lead and headed home with every intention of getting drunk off her ass, and then Frank showed up, and they sort of got drunk together.

But then the vodka was screwing with her head, and his lips looked especially red that night, and Karen couldn't really help the muttered _kiss me_ before they were actually kissing, Frank's lips hot and wet and his breath as sour as hers. And that kiss turned into two three four more before Karen lost her blouse and Frank lost his jeans and the rest was sort of history.

Except she woke up to a fresh pot of coffee and a distinct lack of a certain ex-vigilante.

Now she was living in the two-months-after period, the one where Frank didn't ever show his face, and if he ever did she wasn't sure whether to kiss him or shoot him.

"Shoot him, probably," Trish shrugs over her latte. "I know I would if Jess ever pulled a stunt like that,"

Karen raises an eyebrow, taking a long sip of her straight black coffee. "She's your sister,"

"Same difference," Trish grins, eyes sparkling. "Either way, I can tell you he doesn't regret it. Don't need to know him to tell you that,"

"Yes, that's exactly why he left her all alone after the night of her dreams," Jessica sets down an Americano on the table, grabbing a chair from nearby. Her voice is dry as she fishes a flask from her pocket. "I'm not big on the whole romance thing, but I'm pretty sure that means it's over, blondie,"

Karen fakes a glare. "Thanks, Jess,"

"It's what I'm here for," she shoots her a sideways grin.

"What, self medication and sarcasm?" Trish scoffs, swatting the flask away from where Jessica's liberally adding it to her take away cup. Karen shoots a glance over to the counter, where a barista is glaring at them. She smothers a smile.

"No, being a pain in your ass."

Karen rolls her eyes, still smiling despite herself. Meeting the two at the station the night of Matt's death hadn't been planned, but they'd quickly come to be good friends. Not as close as Matt and Foggy, but enough that she was comfortable having some female friends.

The smell of Jessica's flask hits her like a slap to the face, and Karen stifles a groan as her stomach turns. Abruptly, she kicks back her chair and darts as quickly and elegantly as possible to the ladies room.

After she's done hurling her stomach's contents into the toilet bowl, Trish having appeared to hold her hair back, and Jessica standing far back against the bathroom wall, Karen leans tiredly against the stall. "Not again," she mutters, and Trish shoots her a sympathetic look.

Of course, that's when Jessica starts laughing, and Karen might have just pulled her gun if it wasn't back in her purse at the table.

"You do realize this is the beginning of a really shitty romcom, right?" Jessica scoffs, shaking her head. Karen glowers.

"How so?"

"You're knocked up, Trish and I are your questionable moral support, and baby daddy's somewhere out there playing hipster,"

* * *

The fact that Jessica Jones is the one to call her out as pregnant is something that Karen can't quite wrap her head around.

The fact that she's correct is even more difficult.

But the red lines glare up at her from the test Trish buys her, and the other blonde pulls her into a hug, while Jessica mutters something about needing more to drink for this.

"Shit," is the first word out of her mouth, followed by "Frank's gonna be so pissed,"

"Well," Trish sighs. They made it back to her apartment after, though Karen can't quite remember much of it. "He might piss his pants, yes,"

Karen drags her fingers through her hair, scraping her nails far enough to reach her scalp. "I can't do this, Trish," she whispers. "I just . . . I can't. Frank can't. Not after his kids . . ."

Trish takes the test from her just as Jessica reappears with a cup of tea. "Here, Barbie,"

She passes it gently, and Karen smiles up at her despite her red nose. "Thanks,"

"You're not allowed to have vodka, so, next best thing, right?" Jess offers, and Karen knows she trying. Comfort hasn't ever really been the PI's forte, but she still knows she cares.

"I suppose," she laughs, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

The three of them sit in silence, Karen tiredly rubbing her finger over her brow. Of course, after everything, this would just be the icing on the cake. Ever since leaving Fagan Corners, it felt like her life had just been one giant downward spiral to this point.

After all, who else could say they'd been framed for murder, pissed off a mafia boss, actually committed murder, got hired as a journalist, fallen in love with a known murderer, and then promptly watched the relationship fall apart before discovering herself pregnant.

"To think that's just scratching the surface," Jessica shakes her head, taking a sip of what Karen believes is chamomile tea.

 _In case there was any doubt today was weird._

And that's when she realizes she's just blurted out her thoughts, and wide-eyed, looks up at Trish.

The radio host's mouth is slightly open, but she shakes her head. "I don't want to know."

Jess leans back further against the door post. "You've put up with me. Nothing can really compare to that,"

Karen's eyebrows raise. "Not even murder?"

"Beat you to it first," Trish sighs. "But barring that . . . how are you feeling?"

 _Like I have half a mind to jump off a building_. "Fine,"

"I call bullshit," Jessica cocks her head, looking intently at the reporter. There's something vaguely disconcerting about the PI being clad in a simple gray top and jeans with a mug of tea in her hands, giving her life advice. Not for the first time, Karen wonders when the hell she fell down this rabbit hole.

"'I'm fine' is like the universal signal for 'I'm dead inside but carry on as normal,'" Trish lays a hand on Karen's knee. "I've been with that one long enough to tell."

Karen thinks she might have just seen Jessica stick her tongue out, but she figures the day is strange enough as it is without looking too closely at things.

"My stomach's calmed, if that's what you mean," she watches the test in Trish's fingers, as if daring the little lines to disappear. "But other than that, I think my head's like a carousel."

"I think that's to be expected," she offers, smiling gently. "What are you feeling, so far? Because I'm here no matter what you want to do, telling Castle or not, keeping it or, well, not."

Karen blows a breath out, knitting her finger tips together around the cooling mug of tea. "I don't know,"

* * *

The days tick by.

Decaffeinated tea begins to crowd her coffee grounds to the back of the cupboard, and it's a Wednesday, three weeks later, when she finally knows her answer. Somehow, she knows, there wasn't ever a choice for her, not really.

"I'm doing this," she says bluntly, as soon as Trish's voice hums in her ear.

From the other end, there's a sharp intake of breath, followed by an "okay."

"What do we need to do?"

* * *

 **I'm tentatively putting the chapter count at 3, but it's open to change, so just a heads up.**

 **I had fun writing this, mess as it is. Feel free to drop your thoughts below. Might even inspire me to update sooner ;)**

 **Feel free to chat / scream with me about these two on Tumblr — WhenTheSkyeQuakes**


	2. Chapter 2

Karen's moment of joy at finally voicing her choice only lasts a day.

By the third day, she's a sobbing mess. She could blame it on the hormones, but it's so much more than just that, even if they may be contributing to it.

No, it's just the fact that Frank hasn't shown up in eleven weeks. That even if she had a chance to find him and tell him about the pregnancy, there wasn't even a shred of a guarantee he'd want anything to do with it or her. Not after his family, and most certainly not after a single night that she's ninety percent certain he views as a mistake.

But then she sees herself with a tiny thing, being able to finally have a family. Something that can't be ripped out from under her again and again. A little thing with big eyes and a bright smile. A little thing that she can teach and dress and love.

But then it's back to Frank, and having to face this alone, and trying to find space in her schedules for every bit of prenatal care and planning that needs to be done.

Trish is helpful, of course, and if she's not able to, then Jess shows up in her absence.

But they're not great friends. They're not as close as Matt and Foggy. Before this, they were coffee dates and occasional lunches and business meets. Now they're phone calls and occasional shopping trips.

She pushes on, though. Pushes on and digs for Frank, who has to be somewhere in this goddamned city.

* * *

Another month passes, and Karen awakes to a bump.

It's not quite what she'd expected. Sure, she'd read the manuals, but a small part of her still thought the whole baby bump thing would be a gradual thing. But no, today was the day that her uterus was able to push forward through her abdominal muscle to give her a bump. Nothing large, and still very much slight enough to be covered with a looser blouse, but she could see it in the mirror after her shower.

And that set off a whole new round of emotions, one that ended with her purchasing a pregnancy test and angrily sticking it into the pot of roses that had sat on her window sill for the past four months.

* * *

"Damn, Barbie," Jessica squints at her midsection, lips somewhat twisted in a considering manner. "From your freak out over the phone I would've thought you'd swollen up like a balloon,"

"It feels like it!" Karen exclaims, running her hands over the slight roundness. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd always been too tall, too bony, awkward Karen Page. But now there was this, however slight it was, and she was sort of tripping out.

Jessica sighs. "Poor you and your supermodel body,"

Karen catches her little smile, though.

* * *

He still doesn't come.

But David does.

Two days after the flower pot debacle, the man is outside her apartment, hair fluffed curls and all.

"I'm, um, sorry to bother you, ma'am," he speaks nervously but quickly, eyes darting about a small bit. "But I'm . . . I'm David. David Lieberman."

Politely, she reaches out to shake his hand. "Would it be eerie to say I know?"

He grins. "Probably not as much as what I'm about to tell you,"

Karen's eyebrows raise, and she self consciously pulls her cardigan tighter about her, leaning further into the door post. "And what would that be?"

David cringes, and it's almost comical. "There is quite literally no easy way to say this, but I've been hacking into the security cameras across the street to make sure you're okay since Frank refuses to show his face around here,"

Her jaw drops, and she's not sure if it's out of a bit of warmth that this man had taken it upon himself to look after her, or outright anger that he'd ever had the audacity to do such a thing.

But then her mind catches on _Frank_ and everything freezes.

"Frank?" she nearly whispers, and dammit Karen has always considered herself feminist and above being some lovelorn girl, but hell if she doesn't miss him. Pregnant or not, she's still sure the tears would develop in her eyes at his name. "Where is he?"

David sighs, and looks down. "Honestly? I have no damn clue," his fingers tap at his sides. "I . . . I still have his number and he shows up at my place every few weeks, but that's it. He hardly even picks up. I don't have an address or anything. I'm sorry,"

Karen puts on a brave face, ignoring the sinking in her stomach. Her lips twitch into a smile, and she holds the door open wider. "It's alright. I'm assuming you have . . . something more to say than that?"

"Yeah. Just a bit," he chuckles, stepping into her apartment. Karen clicks the safety back on her gun, shoving it in her purse as she passes it and leads the way inside. "Coffee? Water?"

"A, uh, water would be nice," he offers, and she nods, grabbing a bottle from the fridge as he sits gently on the edge of her couch. "Thanks," he nods, accepting it as Karen sits opposite him on a chair.

"Is it alright if I just . . . come out with it?" David asks, fingering the label of the bottle.

Karen nods, brushing a strand of hair back.

"I saw your flowers. Have seen them, actually, since last November and all of . . . that went down. Signal was Frank's idea, but I'm the one who kept an eye out,"

 _Ah_. _Micro_. "With the cameras?"

"Yeah. Not exactly legal, but neither's what happened to Frank, so I call it even." David shakes his head. "Anyways, after everything, Frank would never speak to me about you. I . . . I don't mean to imply, but I know you're special to him. He nearly beat the shit out of me for questioning why you're so important, and so it sort of makes sense that he cares for you. Deeply."

Karen clears her throat, hoping and praying that her cheeks aren't nearly as red as they feel. "Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual,"

His face softens. "Again, creepy, but I know. Frank never talked about you after everything, but I was worried, so I kept an eye out. And then, a few days ago, I saw the-the test,"

She can't help but put her head in her hands, because of fucking course. Of course Frank wouldn't see it, but his ally — friend? — would.

"You're pregnant?"

Karen can't bring herself to meet his eyes, but she pushes her hair back and nods, eyes on the ground. "Yes. Four months."

"And . . . And it's Frank's?"

She levels him with a look. "Who else?"

David holds up his hands, placating. "Just . . . clarifying,"

Karen nods, and looks out the window. The roses are still there, moving with the breeze. The white stick stands tall.

"I . . . I know he wouldn't be happy. Not with me, and not with a baby. He's had that, and he's lost that. And I have no right to ask him to do it over again,"

David shakes his head, sniffing. "I know. I know," he seems lost in his thoughts for a moment. "But he — he cares for you. He still needs to know, to have a choice."

"I know," Karen mumbles. "I know that. And if I had any way to tell him, I know I would. He does deserve that much,"

She sniffs, forcing down the wave of emotions that her hormones and thoughts are pushing on her. "And I just miss him,"

But she's lived without him before, with no idea of how or where he was, and she can do it again.

But her heart aches at that thought.

* * *

David heads home with a headache. One that doesn't end even when Sarah's lips meet his and the kids crowd around his legs.

It's simply Karen. Karen who doesn't deserve to do this alone, and Frank who should be at the very least supportive. It's not like he expects them to tie the knot at this point — he's simply hoping for a bit of contact and friendship between them, and maybe they can figure out the whole romance thing later.

He tells Sarah as much later, laying in bed and taking in the silence.

"He loves her," she says simply, shrugging against where she's tucked into his side. "He's not going to admit it, not after what happened to Maria. But that doesn't mean he can't still feel things."

It's true. Frank feels far too much, and yet he'll never say anything. He's spent weeks with the guy, he's practically a raw nerve when it comes down to it.

"And Karen?"

Sarah takes a longer silence.

"I think Karen's going to do what's best in the long run," she answers finally. "She's been put in an impossible position. When she finds Frank, they're going to have to hash it out. And I think from there she's going to do what's best for the baby, whether that involves Frank or not,"

David's nose brushes through the hair atop her head, and he drops a kiss on her head.

"You seem confident they're going to find each other,"

"Oh, they are," she states seriously. "I'm here to see that through."

And honestly, David doesn't doubt that one bit.

Though he'd be lying to say he wasn't at least a bit nervous to see what came of his wife interfering in the Punisher's love life.

* * *

"I still can't believe you cheated me out of a night of bar hopping," Foggy groans, and Karen has to stifle a smile. "You and that damned adorable baby to be,"

She looks around them, at Foggy sitting next to her at the waterfront, the people milling about, the questionable hour of the night. He has a point, but there's also nowhere she'd rather be.

"You bet they're gonna be stinking cute," Karen bumps his shoulder with hers. "And after all of this is over, I owe you about a week straight of alcohol, so just wait Nelson. You'll get your tequila worm,"

He laughs, glancing down at the pavement.

"You know, I still can't believe we're here." Foggy tacks on after a moment of silence.

"At the river?" Karen raises an eyebrow, teasing. He pushes her fondly.

"No, just — _here_." His hands gesticulate widely. "No Nelson and Murdock, no Matt, but you're having a baby and I'm getting married. Like how the hell does that happen?"

Karen smiles softly, looking down at her hands. "Feels like just yesterday we were set up on a date by Ms. Cardenas."

They both chuckle at that, but then the wind blows, and Karen's sharply reminded of how everything led up to this. Of meeting the pair of them, of running for her life from Frank, of trying to understand Matt Murdock and his ways. And then, finally, perhaps inevitably, losing him.

"Do you think he'd be proud?" Karen asks quietly, blinking rapidly.

"I hope so," Foggy answers honestly, and that's when she leans her head against his shoulder, watching the moon dance across the water.

* * *

 **Probably not gonna continue posting on here, but I hope if anyone is reading this then they enjoy it.**


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